(I wrote this a few weeks ago but haven't been able to post it until now, as I was looking for a picture to scan to go along with this.)
If you are my friend on Goodreads, you may or may not know that I have given 5 stars to The Last Lecture by RandyPausch. I decided recently to read it again, more for the sake of having nothing else on my iPod as I was traveling for hours to Vegas alone than because I was aching to re-read a novel, which I don't really do. This morning as I was jogging along, bouncing to the beat of Pauschisms for a painful 9 miles, I realized something of why I tear up and/or full on sob an average of every 5 minutes when reading this book. Ok, I admit that I am a bawl baby. I lose it in church about every other week, and probably more often during the week. But this isn't because of sadness as much as it is that I just get very emotional in witnessing or hearing about the goodness of people. I have this deep rooted belief that the majority of people are very good, but we let factors get in the way, and that causes us to make not so good decisions sometimes. But I feel like when we get our heads on straight we always return to that goodness. Any way, that could be reason enough to explain my total lack of togetherness when reading this particular novel. But, today I realized it is so much more.
(My father, Stan, when he was in college, I believe)
Every time Pausch reveals an inherent truth that he has learned and lived by, I picture my father speaking those words to me. I realized that this is because many of the lessons Pausch has learned are lessons my father taught me in our short time together on this earth. Pausch talks about his baby and how he wanted to leave something for her to know her father by since he won't be there to raise her and teach her these things, but I had my father for 17 years of my life, over which period I learned almost all of these same lessons. Pausch talks about using thin mints to thank the people doing him a favor and when he needed to check up on the favor to see if it was done, he would simply ask if they ate the thin mints yet. I have to smile at the many times my father would use this tactic. He was a man that enjoyed the simple things in life as well as making others happy. One time he had to take our pool pump in to get fixed in the dead heat of the Vegas summer. You have to know that I was a fish growing up. Living in Vegas, this made sense. We lived in the pool during those scortching summer months, and when the pool was busted that was the worst torture we had to endure (other than when our a/c went out in the summer, which happened frequently, but that's a whole different, sweaty tale). Any way, the men at the pool fixer upper shop or whatever it was said it would be some insane amount of time that I don't remember to fix it. My father left the part and we happened to be by his favorite doughnut shop. He got a thought and quickly stopped in and picked up a dozen and dropped it back to the guys in the warehouse, just to say thanks for helping us out. Surprisingly enough, I remember our pump was ready in half the time :) He also was a dental lab tech and took these same doughnuts to the ladies at the dental office where he would drop off cases. You see, my dad was an extreme perfectionist and as a result the doctors he worked for wouldn't get their work done by anyone else, but they lamented at the tardiness that sometimes ensued with my dad's work. The arrival of doughnuts, a smile, and a touch of kindness with each on time or tardy deliver of cases always helped ease the tension. You see, my dad realized that he could be stressed out bringing the work in and apologize and make a whole big scene resulting in dirty looks from the secretaries each time he stepped through the door, or he could be himself and kill them with kindness (and a little bit of sugar). My dad realized the importance of doing things with love and everyone loved when Stan was visiting, doughnuts or not.
Perhaps my favorite memory of my father was the wedding day of my oldest married brother, Richard. I am told that he pulled Richard aside to give the old father to son advice as my brother was flying the coop of childhood and entering the realm of husbandhood. My father told him no matter the situation, whether she wrecks the car or tells you she is pregnant when you don't have any money and are totally scared out of your mind, your first reaction is the one she will always remember. And I like to add my own little thought, "So react with love", because that's what my dad always did. When people have asked me to reflect on what my dad taught me this one point takes the cake by a landslide. I believe Pausch puts it as, "People are more important than things." But what I loved most about hearing that my dad said this was that he said it cause he could. He was the type of man who lived that way. He wasn't the type of parent that I am who says, "Do what I say and not what I do." He lived every single day as an optimistic, generous person who understood people and was aware of all those around him, but especially his family. This kind of unconditional love and selflessness is so rare to see. If I can ever even achieve half of the things he tried to teach me I will feel like a success.
When I was in Vegas this week I had an opportunity to sit and visit with my grandparents, and I found my grandpa commenting on what a happy guy my father always was. He kept saying how my dad just lived life as a happy person, and I was glad to have that validated by someone who knew him longer than I did, as I always thought of my father that way but at times thought maybe I was just immortalizing him. He really taught me that it just does you no good to be sad, period. I have never met someone outside of Ryan who is so optimistic. I guess I did pretty well for myself in choosing a husband, and I just got lucky in the parent lottery, as Pausch puts it.
I could go on for hours and fear that I haven't even done him justice here, but I have to go and I just wanted to make sure I got this thought down before it leaves me. In the beginning of the novel there's a line that says something to the effect of you don't have to be alive for someone to know that you love them, and that could not be more true. I really feel that my dad is up in the heavens hoping that I didn't miss that sentence in my focus on the next hill I am battling. I know that he did everything in life to show me he loved me, and it was a job well done.
So sorry Pausch, but these 5 stars go to "Life Lessons for My Baby Girl" by Stan S.
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